


All Aboard the Wenchslayer

by ofwickedlight



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Crack, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Gift Fic, Humor, JB is the ultimate OTP and the characters know it, Mentions of rape & mutilation because BRAVE COMPANIONS, Minor Jaime/Catelyn because Janie loves them and this is her insane gift, Out of character moments due to the crack premise, POV Multiple, Slightest hints of fourth wall breaking, The Author Regrets Nothing, bookverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-16 10:05:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16951956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ofwickedlight/pseuds/ofwickedlight
Summary: Real life JB shippers aren’t the only ones who ship Jaime and Brienne. There’s plenty of in-universe shippers roaming Westeros, and they’ve made it their life’s mission to bring their OTP together — no matter the cost.





	All Aboard the Wenchslayer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [janie_tangerine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/janie_tangerine/gifts).



> Yeah. So. THIS HAPPENED. 
> 
> Blame Janie for this. And GRRM for having so many characters recognize that JB is totes real. And me for noticing that GRRM did that. 
> 
> So anyway, I've noticed that a lot of minor characters just KNOW that JB is a thing. Observe:
> 
> ** Textual Receipts, Because I Use That as a Basis, Even When Writing Crack **
> 
> _They bound him tight to Brienne of Tarth and made them share a horse again. One day, instead of back to front, they bound them face-to-face. "The lovers," Shagwell sighed loudly, "And what a lovely sight they are. 'Twould be cruel to separate the good knight and his lady." Then he laughed that high shrill laugh of his, and said, "Ah, but which one is the knight and which one is the lady?"_
> 
> **— A Storm of Swords, Jaime IV**
> 
>  
> 
> _“Aye,” added the one-eyed man. “The Kingslayer’s whore.”_
> 
> _She flinched. "Why would you call me that?"_
> 
> __
> 
> _"If I had a silver stag for every time you said his name, I'd be as rich as your friends the Lannisters."_
> 
> __
> 
> _"That was only . . . you do not understand . . ."_
> 
> __
> 
> _"Don't we, though?" The big man laughed. "I think we might. There's a stink of lion about you, lady."_
> 
> **— A Feast for Crows, Brienne VIII**
> 
> This idea turned into my joking that the Brave Companions and the Brotherhood ship JB, and hey, wasn't Cat the one that brought them together in the first place? And Jaime had that dream about Brienne while sleeping on a weirwood stump — did Bloodraven send him that? DOES BLOODRAVEN SHIP JB? AND HEY WHAT ABOUT THE HARRENHAL BEAR HE TOTES DIED FOR JB SHIPPERS'S SINS AMIRITE? 
> 
> So yeah. Janie's my online bestie, and is as silly as they come, _plus_ I wanted to write her a gift for the holidays, so ... 
> 
> ... That's how this all came about. A silly friend who is a fellow JB shipper in need of a gift + textual "evidence" + _extreme_ exaggeration = a crackfic about GRRM's minor characters being [Shippers on Deck](https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/ShipperOnDeck) for Jaime/Brienne. ENJOY. xD

* * *

 

Night was upon them when it began — wine, taunting, threats, and a shining blade, kissing a drunken lion’s chest.

Catelyn Tully Stark stared at Brienne’s sword, watched the glinted point catch the moonlight as it pricked Jaime Lannister’s tattered garb. Even in the hunger that thinned his muscles, the grime that stained his skin and muddied his golden hair, he was still a sight to behold. _Damn him._

“Trying to catch flies, my lady?” he drawled.

Catelyn’s eyes snapped away from the blade, toward the emeralds that had remained sparkling in defiance, despite the dullness of the dungeon. There was a knowing brightness in them, as if he had read her thoughts. Catelyn wanted to snuff it out in ways only a woman could, as much as she hated to admit it. The Kingslayer was used to orders, had followed them all his life, even _liked_ obeying lovers. And, he was already in chains. All she needed to do was —

She killed the thought before it could go further. _He is not meant for me._ “Your stench is like to attract them all, Kingslayer,” she sneered. “Speak no more. You’ve sworn what needs to be sworn, and will leave with your cousin ...” She couldn’t remember his name. Ahh, no matter. He was only a means to the end. “… and Lady Brienne, when the time is right.”

Catelyn caught Brienne’s blue eye then. They were filled with confusion, but not defiance. The young warrior gave her a determined nod, one that spoke louder than any promise she could give Catelyn. She was no knight in truth, but had the spirit of one … whereas the Kingslayer had the title of one, but spat on everything knighthood meant. There was a poetry in that, she realized. A balance. _I understand now._ She did not like it, and thought the sweet girl deserved _far_ more … but she understood.

When the world slept and grew silent, the three of them departed — Jaime, Brienne, and the other one. Catelyn watched from the distance as they descended to the river. Waiting.

The rustle of bushes was right on time. “Hath it began?” lisped a voice.

“Prepare the others,” said Catelyn Tully Stark. “Our time is now.”

 

XD

 

“Which one were we supposed to kill, again?” asked Will as he watched the trio ride through the woods. There was a tall, ugly woman, a tall, strikingly handsome man despite all the filth that covered him, and a weasel-looking fellow who spent most of his time keeping the peace between the ugly woman and handsome man. Will hoped they didn’t have to make a go at the tall ones. Even though the handsome one was in chains, Will could tell by his stance that he knew his way around a sword. And the woman was quite fierce, judging by her armor and blade. _Maybe we can catch them when they’ve fallen asleep from fucking._ That was bound to happen sometime — they argued _way_ too much for it to not lead to that.

“The weasel,” said Pen.

 _Thank the gods._ “Any idea why someone wants him dead, and not the other two?”

“He’s getting in the way of the OTP,” said Pen.

Will frowned. “What in the Seven Hells does that mean?”

“OTP,” Pen said with a roll of his eyes, as if Will was an idiot for not knowing. “Optimal Territory Perimeter.”

“And that is?”

Pen shrugged. “Oh, you know, fancy highborn words for tactics.”

Will’s frown deepened. He knew a lot about tactics, and had never heard that term. “What sort of tactics?”

Pen scowled. “The sort that fancy highborns use — something about naval battles? _Point is,_ Weasel’s in the way of it. Getting rid of him will, y’know, bring the OTP together, or what have you. The other two make up the OTP, so they need to travel alone. It’s not that fucking hard to grasp, Will.”

“Ahh, fuck off,” said Will. He watched their targets. The tall ones _did_ spend most of their time ignoring the weasel and focusing on each other. Perhaps Pen was right about their buyer wanting him dead to support the OTP … whatever that meant. _No matter. Either way, we get paid._

Pen brandished his crossbow. “Get the men ready,” he said.

“Wait,” said Will. “Let’s give ‘em another day. Five silver pieces says the OTP will fuck tonight.”

“Can’t,” said Pen. “The buyer is on a tight schedule. We have to kill Weasel now.”

“Fuck,” sighed Will. “This must be a serious OTP they’re dealing with.”

"Oh." Pen laughed as he notched his crossbow. “You don’t know the half of it.”

 

XD

 

“I don’t see it,” said Urswyck as the sounds of grunting, moaning, clashing, and heavy breathing graced their ears.

Timeon laughed. “I do,” he said. “This is fucking if I’ve ever seen it.”

The ugly maid pushed the Kingslayer into the water, straddled him. More grunting. More moans.

A giggle skittered through the camp. “Oh, Shagwell sees it too,” said Shagwell. “He sees. He knows. I’ve had a woman or two fight me like that!”

“But women actually _want_ to fuck Lannister, unlike they do you,” said Urswyck. “This one only seems to loathe him, and not in the fun way.”

Shagwell shook his head, jingling. “Noooooo. I’ve watched them since the outlaws got rid of Lannister’s cousin. They’re lovers just waiting to happen, oh yes! We just have to help them along.”

Zollo stomped in from behind them. “They need no help. Ugly woman is strong warrior. Lannister is strong warrior. He’ll take her when he’s won the battle and put a strong cub in her. Wait and see.”

So they waited. But all they saw was the big woman pummeling Lannister. Winning. Thrusting him in and out of the water with her legs on each side of his hip, hideous face pink and sweating, small chest heaving, and gods, it _did_ look like they were fucking. Strong as she was, she did seem to be a good lay. _I can understand how a man like Lannister would like that,_ thought Urswyck. Still, that face, that mannish body … he didn’t know if he was convinced.

When the battle was obviously lost, the Companions made their way to the two. “Wait until they’re with us, Urswyck,” said Shagwell. “You’ll see it too. You and Hoat.”

 

XD

 

Urswyck saw it.

Oh, he fucking _saw_ it.

And it was all thanks to Shagwell and Hoat, those passionate bastards. Hoat had been like him, at first. A nonbeliever. He had said as much to Shagwell as they captured the Kingslayer and his woman.

“They loathe one another,” Hoat had said, dismissive, as they lugged their captives behind them.

“Noooooo,” said Shagwell. “Didn’t you hear him? He tried to deceive us, called her his _wife!_ Out of all of the disguises to fool us, that is what he chooses? He names her his _wife_ , after making her thighs bleed with maiden’s blood by cutting her with his …” Shagwell smirked, “ _Sword?_ It’s basic poetry. Swords are always metal cocks.”

Urswyck frowned. “Even when two men are f —”

“ _Always,”_ grinned Shagwell. “They are lovers-to-be. How is Shagwell the only one who sees?”

“Zollo sees,” said Zollo. “Strong woman is strong. She will fight the Kingslayer again and take his seed as a prize.”

“That would be a thight to thee,” said Hoat. “And good entertainment for tonight. Have them fuck while we watch. Then, we thall thee if you know it to be true.”

Shagwell shook his head. “That wouldn’t work. They’re both stubborn. They need to be pushed without knowing it.” He frowned as he thought. Then he smiled, and it was hideous and mad. “Do we not need to send a message to Tywin Lannister?”

Hoat smiled back. “We do indeed.”

So that was how they conjured the plan to rid Jaime Lannister of his swordhand. It was not what their buyer had requested, but they had other masters to follow in this war, and well, the buyer never said the lion had to remain _whole,_ only that he be … pushed. A severed hand seemed like the perfect nudge.

Before they could even cut Lannister, though, he had already saved his sweet lady from rape with lies of Tarth having an endless supply of sapphires. Urswyck heard the lie, but said nothing. If Lannister thought he had saved her, well … that could lead to the Tarth woman softening up for him, no?

“We should cut him now,” Timeon told Hoat. “When she’s already thinking of how heroic he is. She’ll be even more sympathetic to his plight.”

“Mayhaps we won’t even need to cut him for that reason,” Urswyck said. “He saved her. That should be enough to —”

“Is every word you say a lie, Kingslayer?” They overheard the woman say. “Tarth is called the Sapphire Isle for the blue of its waters."

"Shout it a little louder, wench,” Lannister snapped. “I don't think Urswyck heard you.”

Oh, he had. And he had not expected the pang in his chest as they spewed their cruelty at one another. The Kingslayer had saved her — how could the Tarth woman still be so mistrustful?

“The sooner they know how little you're worth in ransom, the sooner the rapes begin,” Lannister went on. “Every man here will mount you, but what do you care? Just close your eyes, open your legs, and pretend they're all Lord Renly."

Timeon grinned. “Is that jealousy I detect?”

“She doesn’t believe in him yet,” said Shagwell. “And he has no idea how much he cares. It’s a game they play without realizing it. Oh, how fun!”

“It will be even more fun when that hand dangleth from hith neck,” said Hoat.

When they reached camp, Lannister was thrown before them, with Zollo at the ready. The arakh flashed in the light, and the Kingslayer’s scream was agonizing enough to make even Urswyck wince … just a bit. And it was perfect.

The Tarth woman had done more than wince. She became the wretched Kingslayer’s nurse. Fed him, even cleaned his shit and vomit. Granted, they had ordered her to do those things — with barely suppressed giggles and smiles — but she never seemed unwilling. Urswyck could practically feel the warmth radiating from her, the concern, the … what was the word? Em-pa-thy? He saw it in her pretty blue eyes whenever Lannister would bite back a groan of pain, or fall from his horse, or speak nonsense from his sickness. And Lannister _liked_ her nursing, though he’d probably rather die than admit it. Urswyck had seen how his fading green eyes would close in peace as the Tarth woman’s mannish hands wiped the sweat from his brow in a manner that was oddly gentle, how he would lean into her touch. It was good they had severed his hand — otherwise, it would have taken ages for these two to grow so close.

Though those sickeningly soft displays was enough to convince Urswyck that Shagwell was right about Lannister and Tarth, he didn’t truly _believe_ in them until the night his comrades grew frisky.

“We should fuck her in truth,” said Rorge.

Shagwell laughed. “Yes! The Kingslayer will get protective, and we’ll get a strong maiden’s arse.”

“Crippled man will try to defend strong woman,” said Zollo. “And she will think him worthy.”

“Hoat ordered us away from her,” Urswyck said. He hadn’t told Hoat that Lannister lied about the sapphires. The lie made things too interesting. “And even if he didn’t, it might backfire, for many reasons. Fucking her could divide them.”

Shagwell hummed. “We shall see!”

Shagwell, Zollo, and Rorge went over to where Lannister and his woman lay. Urswyck expected to hear a scream. Maybe a laugh or two from Shagwell. But instead, it was the Kingslayer.

“SAPPHIRES!” he yelled.

 _The only sapphires you see are in those eyes of hers, Kingslayer,_ Urswyck thought, and his heart grew three sizes that day. That was Jaime Lannister. The Kingslayer. Saving the giantess again, while half delirious from mutilation. Gods, could it be? Something so precious, so pure, in this world?

Rorge didn’t think it was precious. He beat the cripple bloody. Urswyck heard the Kingslayer’s agony, but he could barely see the kicks and stomping through his tears, blurring his vision. The man was half dead, yet he had mustered the strength to defend the Tarth woman. Urswyck had never witnessed anything so beautiful. _I will tell Hoat to pursue future business with these buyers,_ he thought as he wiped his eyes. _They are certainly interesting._

Shagwell returned then, bacon in hand, a knowing look in his eyes. He smirked at Urswyck as he ate, let a bunch of grease run down his chin. _Literally everyone I’ve ever met eats that way,_ Urswyck reflected, but he shook away the random thought.

“You knew he wouldn’t let her be raped,” Urswyck said.

Shagwell’s smirk widened. “I know knights, my friend.”

That wasn’t all Shagwell knew. The next day, when they’d grown tired of the Kingslayer falling from his horse, they tied him to the giantess’s saddle, and faced them together. Timeon, ever the Dornish romantic, made sure the rope was extra tight, so they had no choice but to rub their noses together, inhale each other’s breath. "The lovers," Shagwell sighed as he watched them, his eyes filled with glee. Urswyck thought he would squeal like a little girl — he knew _he_ was close to letting one out. "And what a lovely sight they are. 'Twould be cruel to separate the good knight and his lady.” He giggled. “Ah, but which one is the knight and which one is the lady?"

 _Which one indeed?_ Urswyck thought as Shagwell gave him a knowing look. At this rate, the Kingslayer and his woman had both played the hero and the damsel. He thought about what awaited them at Harrenhal, and his heart warmed.

 

XD

 

“He grows weary,” said Leaf.

Bloodraven hummed. He could see Jaime Lannister, yes. Alone when he should be paired. Away from her, when he should be near, in Harrenhal. Succumbing to slumber. Going to the tree stump.

The _weirwood_ tree stump.

“I see him,” said Bloodraven. “I will make him dream soon. I will show him.”

“What will he see?” Leaf asked.

 _A dim light_ , Bloodraven thought. _A light that reveals both beauty and knight._

“That he and Brienne are destined.”

“And precious,” Leaf said, beaming. “And sweet and unique and —”

Bloodraven cleared his throat. “Yes. Destined.” They were destined.

Bloodraven would make the lion see.

 

XD

 

Stevyn always thought of himself as a romantic bear.

When he was not roaming through the wood of the Riverlands, he spent his time practicing his sonnets, his singing, and he would read tales of lovers and great, romantic battles. When he wasn’t doing that, he watched humans. They were such strange things. Strange, but sweet, when they weren’t cruel. This war had made most of them cruel, though. Cruel, and vicious.

The two humans he had been watching were an odd mix of cruel and sweet. Hoat said one was a lion, but that had been just a jest, Stevyn saw. Still, he was as ferocious as one. He taunted the giant female every chance he took, and yet … Stevyn could sense there was more to his cruelty, and her contempt. He had been watching them for some time, and well, he was wrong to think of _himself_ as romantic, after seeing them. He was no comparison.

The not-lion and his giantess were perfect mates. Their scents were intertwined perfectly, as were their movements. The battle he witnessed was nothing short of a mating ritual. There was also the fact that the not-lion was a knight, and the giantess was a lady, and all the sonnets, even the bear ones, made it clear that knights and ladies were meant to be mated. The adventures they had strengthened that. Stevyn had been watching the humans even before the Companions of Bravery had captured them. So he knew. He knew better than all of them.

And he was enraptured.

Hoat found him the day they had taken the not-lion’s not-paw, and proposed a deal. It was an offer Stevyn couldn’t refuse.

So here he was, lounging in the pits of Harrenhal to await the not-lion, Jaime Lannister, to come rescue his mate, Brienne of Tarth.

Stevyn’s fur rustled with excitement. Oh, he couldn’t wait to meet them, and tell them how much they inspired him. Their love was one that burned slowly, but with the passion of a thousand summer suns. He needed to rejoice, to bask in their beauty, to praise them, express his adoration of them. Perhaps if they knew they had supporters, they would join together once and for all. They would continue to be stubborn otherwise, he thought.

There was a thud in the distance. It was time.

Stevyn stepped out of the shadows. The sunlight was piercing, and the Companions of Bravery stood above them, cheering and jeering as Brienne of Tarth gained her composure. She was dressed in a pink fur, rather than the shiny silver rock-like fur that human warriors liked to wear when going to battle. Still, she looked strong and fierce and courageous, despite the fact that she had no idea that this bear adored her and had no intention of harming her. _She would make a good bear,_ Stevyn thought. She-bears were strong like her. She needed more fur, though.

Stevyn took a step toward her. Her eyes flashed, and she held up those silver sticks humans liked to fight with. Solds. Smolds? Swolls? _I will ask her when we’ve become friends._ But she looked so cautious as she looked into his eyes, and Stevyn suddenly felt shy.

“My … my lady,” he greeted her.

Brienne of Tarth flinched at his voice, just a bit. Did she only hear roars? Humans could understand bears well enough, if they listened. But Stevyn supposed that in this situation, listening wasn’t the easiest thing to do.

Stevyn backed away. The last thing he wanted was for her to think him an enemy. “I mean you no harm, my lady. Please listen. I’ve wanted to meet you for quite some time! I deeply admire the bond between you and your future mate! I dream of being a bard, and would like to write a song about your —”

Each word set Brienne of Tarth further and further on edge. She kept her swoll pointed toward him, not wavering for a single breath.

Stevyn sighed. Words would do no good here. Humans liked action. _Perhaps if I hug her, she’ll understand._ Stevyn lunged, aimed his arm at her shoulders —

And she moved at the last moment. His claws raked through flesh, and they screamed as one.

“No!” he said as blood sprayed through the air. “Forgive me, I only meant to —”

Brienne of Tarth didn’t hear him. She grit her teeth as her wound wept, but her eyes remained dry. Still so brave, even after everything. He definitely wanted to write a song for her now. If he got out of this alive, that is.

Then, a scent wavered through the air. A familiar scent. Brienne of Tarth’s _partnering_ scent.

Not-lion.

Jaime Lannister landed in the pit in a way that was almost graceful. He eyed Stevyn, weary and … confused, as if he couldn’t believe he had leapt into a bear pit.

“Kingslayer?” Brienne of Tarth asked.

 _He hates it when you call him that!_ Stevyn wanted to tell her — Jaime Lannister would slightly tense whenever she said the title, Stevyn could sense it — but he remained silent. More roaring would not help matters. Unless … the words of the not-lion’s house were Hear Me Roar. Stevyn was uncertain as to how a house could speak, but that was the way of strange humanity. If Jaime Lannister could roar himself, then perhaps he would understand Stevyn?

“Jaime Lannister!” Stevyn called out.

Jaime Lannister grabbed a fist of sand, and put himself between Brienne of Tarth and Stevyn.

Stevyn held in a squeal. _Such a protective mate!_ “I mean neither of you any harm!” Stevyn continued. “I only want to celebrate your inevitable love! Please listen! I know that you two —”

The sand hit him with a merciless sting, and Stevyn roared in truth. _Hellish Hibernations!_ It hurt, and he couldn’t see. He stumbled blindly, blinking the sand out. When the vision cleared, he saw Jaime Lannister straddling Brienne of Tarth, shielding her. _Heavenly Hibernations!_

“Oh, you two are so precious!” At this point, Stevyn did not care if they couldn’t understand them. He had to emote! “This is a love story for the ages!”

Jaime Lannister’s cat green eyes were wild, but he did not flinch underneath Stevyn’s roars. His arms held his mate closer — unconsciously, Stevyn could sense. Instinct. _Instinct,_ and Stevyn the Bear could hold in his love no longer; he _squealed._ It rang throughout the pit, through the world, through his heart. This was it. Nothing he could ever experience would ever surpass or meet this. He was in the light, and it was _euphoric._

When the arrow met his flesh, he barely felt it. _It was worth it,_ he thought as the world grew faint. _I regret nothing. Nothing._ In the distance, he heard fish swimming, ready to be eaten, winter welcoming him into slumber, songs and poems and sweetness.

Even further was the living. “You thlew my bear!” Bickering, mindlessness …

Then, “You were well away,” said Stevyn’s heroine. “Why come back?”

“I dreamed of you,” Jaime Lannister said, and Stevyn the Bear shuddered.

 _Yes,_ he thought as joyful tears wet his fur, and he closed his eyes. _Worth it._

 

XD

 

“She said it again!” laughed Lem.

Thoros scoffed. “You lie.”

“No,” he said, “Listen.”

They all went silent, leaned in.

And there it was. “Jaime,” rasped straight from the giantess’s huge lips. “Jaime, come back for me.”

One side of the group cheered and took a swig of their ale.

Lem grinned. “I suppose you didn’t see that in your flames. Pay up.”

Thoros slapped the coin in his hands. “No more.” He had already lost the bet twice. Once when Brienne of Tarth called for the Kingslayer ten times, and twice, when she passed half a hundred. The Kingslayer and his woman would be the death of his purse, if nothing else. It was a strange thing, their connection, but Rh’llor never lied. Even without the Lord of Light showing him the way, Thoros could smell the stink of lions on her, and even without that, the Lannister sword of Valyrian steel told a stronger tale than anything else could. There was something begrudgingly curious about the whole thing, and, dare he say it, endearing. He couldn’t explain it.

A soft groan took him from his thoughts. Big blue eyes met his, and Thoros of Myr smiled. “My lady of Tarth,” he said. “We’ve been expecting you.”

 

XD

 

Jaime shouldn’t have been shocked when Brienne’s betrayal was undeniable, shouldn’t have felt a tightening in his chest, but somehow he had managed it. Even with her silence and sullenness on the road that was unlike the sullen silence he had known from her before, even with her big, guilty, shifty eyes that were somehow even bluer when they were sad, even with her wounds and winces and woe, he’d foolishly refused to believe that she was leading him into a trap. Refused to believe that she could ever …

Well, no matter. Everyone lied, not just Lannisters. Even Brienne. Even …

Jaime smiled, wide and bright. “Well, isn’t this a lovely surprise?” he asked his hosts.

The Brotherhood Without Banners looked neither lovely nor surprised. “Kingslayer,” said Thoros of Myr. “You’ve arrived. Right on time.”

Jaime was sure his smile was feral. “Our Lady of Tarth is known for her dedication,” he said without looking at her. “And her loyalty. Once.”

Jaime could _feel_ her wince, beside him. _Oh, did that hurt you?_ He pictured the ones before her, Cersei and Tyrion. They had hurt him, and now, she had joined them. Perhaps it was due time for him to be merciless as well. He couldn’t let Brienne and his siblings have all the fun, could he?

Thoros hummed. “She was always loyal, Kingslayer. Just not to you.” And then the crowd parted, silent as soft footsteps padded on the grass, and _fuck._

Fuck.

It was Catelyn Stark.

No — Catelyn Stark’s _corpse._ White where she was once red. Rotting when she was once so beautiful, grey and torn with bloody tears. Stinking more than the hand that had dangled from his neck. Staring with lifeless eyes that somehow burned with an undying hatred. And the hatred was all for him.

No. Not just for him — _Brienne,_ too. Unbidden, the strongest urge to shield the wench threatened to take him over, and yet, he was frozen. His heart had stopped still, his brow drowned in a cold sweat, and Jaime Lannister found that he was quite speechless. Good thing, that. If he tried to speak, he was sure to retch, and the wench had seen enough of his vomit for a lifetime, hadn’t she?

Catelyn’s corpse stared through his soul, silent as the grave she was never given. Jaime stared back, tense for what felt like eons …

And then he laughed.

Because it was _Catelyn._

And he knew how to handle Catelyn Stark.

“My lady,” he said. His voice only _slightly_ wavered. “I see rumors of your death were … not exaggerated. Have you come to take me up on my offer of bedding you, then? We both know I caught you staring at Riverrun. If you wanted me then, surely you’d have me now. I’m short a hand, yes, but I’m far cleaner, and …” He looked her rotting frame up and down, eyed the men that vastly outnumbered him. “Far more desperate.”

Thoros laughed. It was not a friendly laugh. “The lady regrets that it was your hand you lost, rather than your tongue.”

Jaime shrugged. “Understandable.”

The wench was as stiff as death, her jaw clenched. Jaime could tell she was holding her breath.

“So, then,” Jaime said, “Shall we? I must say, I do grow bored of this. Kill me quickly, or make it slow, but _do get on with it_.”

“You needn’t die,” rasped a voice that cracked and split like the blackest ice. Jaime ignored the chill running down his spine.

“And why is that, my lady?” He asked Catelyn’s corpse. Lady Stoneheart.

“Swear to me,” she said, “As Brienne of Tarth swore to me. Follow where she walks.”

Jaime looked from Stoneheart, to Brienne, back again. Then he laughed. “So is this a true reenactment of Riverrun, then? Vows coerced through violence? A sword at the chest, was it?” He eyed the wench, but only for a breath. He couldn’t look at her fully, register the hurt and guilt. It wasn’t his concern. “Go on then, wench. Draw the sword _I gave you_ and do it. My heart is in the same place it’s always been.” _For all the good it’s done me._

Brienne couldn’t look at him either. Her big eyes gazed at Stoneheart, deep and sparkling and _blue_ , blue like the sapphires he had conjured through lies to save her, and gods, how were they still so beautiful to him, even after everything? “My lady,” she said to Stoneheart, “I brought Ser Jaime here in exchange for Pod and Ser Hyle, as you asked.”

Ahh, so that was why she had done it — to trade his life in exchange for two others.

Well.

At least he was worth more than one to her. That was something. The bitter laugh left him before he could trap it.

“I asked you to kill him,” said Stoneheart. “You failed, as I knew you would. But he won’t.” Her eyes met Jaime’s. “Your lover chose your life over hers, Kingslayer. Now it’s time for the Lannister to pay his debt.”

Jaime blinked. Then he laughed. It did not sound as taunting as he intended, and with each chuckle, his heart skipped a beat. “ _Lover?_ I’m afraid you’re mistaken, my lady. Disloyalty makes my cock quite limp, amongst other things.”

“You’re one to talk of disloyalty,” said Lem.

Jaime shrugged. “People change,” he said, and Brienne dipped her head down in shame. Gods, the more she moped, the less strength he had in him to be furious with her. _Stupid innocent selfless wench._

Thoros of Myr was confused. “You truly aren’t lovers?”

“No,” Jaime said, and his chest tightened at the word.

“Never? Not even a kiss?”

“Never.” Jaime rolled his eyes. “Was there a point to this?”

Brienne looked down, clenched her big hand around Oathkeeper. Her face was as red as his Lannister heart. “I told them that there was nothing between us, Ser.”

“Oh, I’m sure you did,” said Jaime, still not looking at her. Why would a woman such as her allow her name to be attached to one such as _him?_

Jaime eyed Stoneheart. “Pardons, but I must ask again — what is the plan, here?”

“You were supposed to be lovers,” growled Stoneheart. She stared daggers into Thoros. “How is this not so?”

Thoros looked utterly lost. “I’m uncertain, my lady. I saw their love in the flames, and the Lord of Light never lies.”

Jaime frowned. “What in the Seven Hells are you all talking about?”

“Are you truly so surprised, Brother?” The voice brought far more chills through Jaime than anything Stoneheart could muster. He turned, stared.

Tyrion Lannister stared back, a smile on his face that was both loving and cruel all at once. “We set the trap, and you walked into it yourself. It’s a trait we share, I fear.”

“What is this?” Jaime asked.

Tyrion shrugged, and made his way to Stoneheart. “It’s not too long of a story, I suppose.” When he got close enough to Stoneheart, she hissed.

Tyrion stopped. “I suppose I deserve that. Forgive me, my lady.” He looked at Jaime and Brienne. “When Lady Catelyn had me in the Vale, we came to a realization that the conflict between our Houses happened because of where you decided to stick your cock. Now we know it’s mostly Littlefinger’s fault, but —”

“Littlefinger?” Jaime frowned. “What —"

“At the time, we didn’t know of Baelish’s schemes,” Tyrion continued. “So we decided to join together to lure you away from Cersei. Perhaps then, you could think clearly, and aid us in ending the war peacefully.”

Jaime’s frown deepened. “I don’t —”

“Of course, romance wasn’t our first option. That came along when Lady Catelyn went to treat with the Baratheons. Stannis’s Red Woman told her that she’d seen a blue knight and a lion in the flames. A knight to guide him to the means to restoring his honor. That was where the Lady Brienne came in.” Tyrion gave Brienne a bow. “It is wonderful to meet the woman who has enticed my brother so strongly, my lady. A pleasure.”

Brienne was struggling not to shake. Jaime clenched his fist.

Tyrion wasn’t done. “So then, Lady Catelyn found the Lady Brienne in Renly’s camp, and the plan came into place. She sent you two off to bring back her daughters, and we hired the Brave Companions to sort of … push things along.”

“Then the Brotherhood found our lady in the river, after the Freys’s betrayal, and R’hllor raised her from death,” said Thoros. “She … told us of her plan, and, after seeing the truth of it in my flames, I let her lead us so that we could give you and Brienne a further push.”

Tyrion nodded. “And it seems to me that everyone performed their pushing splendidly, from the look of things.” He eyed Jaime’s golden hand. “Well, mostly.”

“My cheek,” Brienne asked, suddenly, voice tight. “Was that …”

“No, my lady,” Tyrion said, sadly. “That was … mere happenstance.” He sighed and looked at Jaime. “But I must say, the two of you barely needed our interference. Brother, you played your part by gifting her a priceless Valyrian sword, and Lady Brienne’s throat should still be rather raw from calling out to you in her fever dreams. You haven’t fucked her yet because you’re oblivious, and have no idea that you’re in love with her. But we all see it.”

“So,” Jaime began. He could only focus on one thing at a time. The plan itself was easier. Less … _less._ “You sicced the Brave Companions on us.”

“Yes.”

“The ones responsible for me losing my hand.” Tyrion was the reason he was a cripple now. His own little brother. Well, Jaime couldn’t say it wasn’t poetic, and deserved.

Tyrion pursed his lips, clasped his hands. “That wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“But it _did_ , despite our passion for the love you two share, Kingslayer.” It was Urswyck. Where did he come fro —

“ _Why?_ ” Jaime asked.

Urswyck looked unimpressed. “We’re called the _Bloody Mummers.”_

A pause. Then, Jaime shrugged. “Fair enough.”

“Where’s Shagwell?” asked Tyrion. “He was quite excited about this little union, from what I heard.”

Urswyck sighed. “The Kingslayer’s Whore killed him. But I think it was a death he wanted. Last time I saw him, he was giggling about how he would make her get revenge for the lost hand. Seems as if he got his wish.”

Brienne was still silent, eyes huge and shamed, lips tight. She had winced at Urswyck’s title for her.

Jaime walked up to Urswyck. “I never touched her,” he said, voice soft but sharp, “And you will remember the lady’s name, Mummer.”

Urswyck’s eyes glinted in victory. “You’re not helping your case, Kingslayer.”

“What case?” Jaime asked. _”What the fuck is going on?_ ”

“What’s going on,” Tyrion answered, “Is that you ruined the plan. You were supposed to have realized your devotion to Brienne by now, so that you would follow her lead. But so much has changed now —“

“That’s an understatement,” Thoros snapped. “Our lady was murdered at her own brother's wedding because of you.”

Jaime raised a brow at that. He was under the impression that the Red Wedding was the child of Father and Roose Bolton.

Tyrion sighed and answered Jaime’s silent question. “I … was supposed to keep an eye on things, in King’s Landing. Send news to the Starks about what Father was up to, if it was anything dire.”

“I imagine that Robb Stark’s assassination was rather dire, Brother.” Jaime remembered something else. “And the fact that Father wanted to marry you to Sansa. You know, the girl we were supposed to be delivering to your partner in crime?”

“Yes,” Tyrion allowed, obviously uncomfortable, “But I didn’t learn of Father’s plans because —”

“Because you were too busy fucking Shae,” Jaime answered for him.

“Fucking Shae,” Tyrion said. “Yes.”

“So because of you,” Jaime said, somehow oddly calm, “My hand is gone, Sansa Stark is Sansa Lannister, the Starks and nearly all of the North was murdered under guest right, with Catelyn returned as a vengeful, undead revenant?”

“…Yes.”

“All because you wanted me to fuck Brienne?”

Everyone stared at Tyrion then.

Tyrion clicked his tongue, paused. “… Mistakes were made.”

“You don’t say.”

“At any rate,” Tyrion said, “It’s done now.”

“Yes,” Jaime said with a bright smile, “And it was _quite unsuccessful._ Congratulations, Brother, my lady Stoneheart. You are both imbeciles. To think I thought you the smart one in our little pride of three, Tyrion. But while we’re here, Brother, would you mind telling me _why you went along with this?_ ”

“In the beginning?” Tyrion asked. “Because I wanted you to be with literally anyone that wasn’t our sister. And then, after your little … confession in the dungeons …” Jaime’s breath hitched at the mentioning of that conversation, but he didn’t look away from his brother. “I wanted to see if, perhaps, I could take from you what you took from me.” Tyrion put up his hands in peace immediately — perhaps Jaime’s rage had shown on his face at the mere thought of Brienne dying for revenge, or dying because of him, or dying, _period._ “I’ve no intentions of hurting your lady now, Brother. What’s between you and I should remain there — no outsiders. And I must say, there is just something too precious between the two of you for me to want to destroy it. Her … _uniqueness_ makes it amusing for me as well. You certainly have a heart for society’s rejects, don’t you?”

Before Jaime could warn Tyrion not to mock Brienne, he was interrupted. “This doesn’t make any sense.” It was the wench herself.

Jaime looked at her. She still wasn’t looking at any of them.

“Pardons, my lady?” said Tyrion.

“Literally everything that’s been said and has happened since I brought Ser Jaime here,” Brienne said, “Makes absolutely no sense.”

A pause.

A long, long pause.

Brienne broke the silence. “Is no one going to explain to me how —”

“Well, Brother!” said Tyrion, “I must say, I’m glad you and your lady could join us. We’ve a surprise for you.”

Jaime shook his head. “Brienne is right. This entire plan doesn’t —”

“It’s a ship!” Everyone yelled.

Jaime blinked. “… A ... ship.” Another thought came to him. “Wait. Tyrion, how are you even _here_ , in the Riverlands, right now —”

“It’s a lovely ship,” said Tyrion as he waddled past them. “You’ll enjoy it, I’m sure. The design would make Uncle Gerion proud.”

“Or the wench and I could fucking leave,” said Jaime. “You’ve made it clear that you want the two of us alive.”

“Right,” said a man, munching on dried jerky. “Can’t destroy the OTP.”

Jaime blinked up at him. He hadn’t noticed him before. “Who are you?”

“Will,” said Will.

Jaime motioned with his hand. “And you’re here because …?”

“Oh,” said Will, “I was one of the men hired by Lady Catelyn to kill your cousin Leos.”

Jaime blinked.

And blinked.

And blinked.

Will blinked back. “That was his name, right? Leos Way?”

Jaime smiled, and grabbed Brienne’s hand. Her skin was warm, as warm as it had been in his dream, the dream he’d had on that weirwood stump. “This was quite the fun chat,” he told them all, “But the Lady Brienne and I will be fucking off, now. Goodbye.” He walked away, leading Brienne, and surprisingly, the wench didn’t pull away from him.

“Ser,” she said, nervously, “I don’t think we should —“

“Brienne.” The wench stopped, and Jaime could lead her no longer.

Silence. Then, “Yes, my lady?”

“Go to the ship,” said Lady Stoneheart.

So that was how they ended up at the ship, with Brienne following orders, and Jaime following Brienne. _Damn her._

Tyrion had not lied, though — it was a grand ship. Beautiful and gilded and _tall,_ fit for someone like the wench. Gold and sapphires adorned the ship, and at the front, a figurehead of a lion with a mane and fur of starlight stood proudly.

Fuck.

They — they didn’t.

“Do you like her, Brother?” asked Tyrion. “Her name is _Wenchslayer_.”

“Charming,” said Jaime. _And all mine._ There was no doubt that Jaime and Tyrion were related — he would have thought of that same title, even if he hadn’t chosen it.

“So what now?” Jaime asked.

“You’re going to get on it, of course,” said Urswyck. “Stevyn didn’t die for everything to fall apart now.”

Jaime frowned. “Who is —”

“Only your greatest admirer, you arse! He was a good bear. A great cyvasse player. Beautiful voice.”

“You are all mad,” Jaime said.

“As are you,” said Tyrion, “Because you’ll follow her.”

“Get on the ship, Brienne,” ordered Stoneheart.

Brienne did, and therefore, so did Jaime.

“Where are we even going?” asked Jaime.

“Well,” said Tyrion, “We were planning on involving you in the war effort, but after hearing so much of your love, well … Essos has softened me. I haven’t forgiven you, Brother, but I’ve no wishes to take anything from you. Go wherever your hearts desire.”

“Wait,” Brienne said, her eyes clearer now. “Podrick and Ser Hyle. Where are they?”

“We’re alive!” They screamed, somewhere, in the distance.

Brienne frowned. “But —”

“ _Ship_ ,” said Stoneheart.

“Wait,” said Jaime. “Tyrion. How are you not still in Ess —”

“Goodbye!” They all said. Then suddenly the ship was unanchored, and Jaime and Brienne were sailing.

Jaime stared past the deck as the land grew smaller and smaller. Brienne stood beside him, silent and blinking and blushing.

“Brienne?” he asked.

The wench turned her head toward him, but she still didn’t quite meet his eyes. “Yes, Ser?”

“What the fuck just happened?”

She sighed. “I have no idea.” She turned away from him. “Wait. Who’s steering the ship?”

They ran to the steering wheel, but there was no one there. Yet the ship was on course.

“It’s as if …” Jaime frowned. “The ship is _sailing itself._ ”

Brienne shook her head. “Too many strange things have happened today.” She still wouldn’t look at him. “If … if you’ll excuse me … I think I’ll try to get some rest.” She was gone before he could stop her.

Jaime made his own way down to his quarters. He could easily mull over how everything between he and the wench had been a scheme ever since they’d met, or how he had most likely ruined what they’d had beyond repair, and —

Brienne was standing in front of a door. The only door that was below deck, besides the privy.

A bedroom door.

The _only_ bedroom door.

Brienne spoke before Jaime could. “I could sleep outside —”

Jaime scoffed, stopping her. “As if I’d let Tyrion and Catelyn’s tricks —"

Wait.

_Wait._

Catelyn.

Hadn’t she said something about Brienne choosing his life over her own?

“Did you try to sacrifice yourself for me?” asked Jaime.

Brienne blinked. “What?”

He grabbed her arm. “You heard me, wench. That corpse said you chose my life over yours. What did she mean by that?”

Brienne looked away. “Ser, I —”

“Tell me.” He needed to hear it. He already knew, but … to _hear_ it …

Brienne looked down, letting herself stay in his grip. “Lady Catelyn … Stoneheart … gave me a choice. Kill you, or hang. So … I …” She took a deep breath. “I chose the rope. I could never hurt … I _couldn’t,_ Ser. I could never … I can’t even fathom … I would have rather died, Ser. And I was ready to die. But then … she started to hang Pod and Ser Hyle, and … Pod is just a little boy, I couldn’t let him die.” Her lip quivered, her unearthly eyes glittering with unshed tears. Tears for him. “Lady Catelyn is … gone. She’s mad, now. I shouldn’t have followed her. I shouldn’t have betrayed you. I’m so sorry, Ser Jaime. Please. I should have —”

Her words were hushed by his lips. Hers were wonderful. Chapped, and pink, and lusciously full. Brienne let out a small gasp, and Jaime teased her with his tongue. Brienne stood still, not joining him, but not pulling away, either.

Jaime laughed. “Kiss me back, wench.”

She sucked in a breath — his breath. “Jaime …” It was soft, and hesitant, but it was _his_ name on her tongue, not Kingslayer, not Ser. Only Jaime.

Jaime caressed her cheek — the bandaged side — and smiled against her lips. Her big, strong, lovely hand slowly went for his neck, and held him there. Warm. She was so warm. Warm, and Jaime Lannister had been cold for so long. Cold since Aerys Targaryen burned him in green flame, and dragon’s blood dripped from a golden sword. Cold since Rickard Stark. Cold since Princess Elia, and Tysha, and Bran Stark. Cold since the White Cloak. Yet here she was. Brienne. His brave, stubborn, kind, selfless, honorable wench.

Jaime gave her one little kiss, then another and another, and then, she kissed back. She tasted like life itself. His life, and hers. Gods, he had been a fool.

They kissed until Jaime felt drunk with it, until he could stand it no longer, led her to the ship’s only bed. To their bed. They had made it out of their armor, and then, Brienne was straddling him, as she had done in that river eons ago, and her hands was in his hair, and Jaime was kissing her breasts through her shirt. Her body was soft and hard all at once, and _Jaime_ was hard, and he kissed and caressed her, and her moans were so pretty, almost as pretty as her eyes, and gods, how could he have not known, how could he have not _realized_ —

Brienne let out a gasp, and Jaime knew it was not one from pleasure. He pulled away. “What is it?”

Brienne grabbed her ribcage. Ahh. Her wounds. It wouldn’t do to fuck her while she was still injured. It had to be perfect. Or as perfect as the Kingslayer could manage.

“It’s all right,” he told her. “There’s always next time.” He winked at her and laid down with her, rested his head on her chest. She wrapped her big muscled arms around him, large enough to make him feel cradled. Gentle. She was always so gentle.

“So,” he murmured, “Where are you going? I think your Riverlander friends made it clear that where you go, I follow.”

Brienne blushed at that, as if his hand hadn’t been all over her just moments before.

“I still haven’t found Lady Sansa,” she said. “So … the Vale, perhaps?”

Jaime closed his eyes, listened to the beating beneath her chest. It may have been his own foolishness, but he could have sworn their hearts were beating as one. “The Vale it is, then.”

 

XD

 

The dwarf and dead woman watched as the ship faded into the horizon.

“Well,” said Tyrion Lannister, “What do you say to our efforts, my lady?”

Catelyn Tully Stark’s dull eyes were unblinking. The smallest quirk of her lips twitched her rotting face. “I would say the ship has sailed,” she said.

**Author's Note:**

> IT HAS SAILED INDEED UNCAT
> 
> THIS IS MY FIRST CRACKFIC AND I REGRET NOTHING
> 
> YOU'RE WELCOME JANIE STOP INFLUENCING ME TO BE INSANE
> 
> HAPPY FUCKING HOLIDAYS EVERYONE


End file.
